A Tale of Conflicting Concerns
by Livilulu
Summary: When Sage Bashaw finds himself in the arena, will he be more concerned with his own survival, or his allegiance to the one he loves?


The last year of availability is always the best. After the reaping, almost all of the eighteen year olds get together and celebrate their ineligibility. As a result, nobody is really spending too much time worrying about reapings during their eighteenth year. It's all about the afterparty. Of course, when an eighteen year old is reaped, the celebration would probably be cancelled. That hasn't happened yet. Personally, I think the celebrations are insulting to the families of those reaped. At the same time, I'd rather thinking about being free from the reaping instead of worrying about it. The odds are so minimal that I'll be picked, six slips out of thousands, that it's not a problem. That's the case with all of my friends as well, including my girlfriend, Erela.

It's really a classic story. I didn't used to like Erela. She seemed too shy, uncoordinated, clumsy, and could easily outsmart me with all of the knowledge she gathered from the books she read. I was secretly intimidated by her, even though she never said anything. I didn't like her, and neither did my friends, simply because she was better than us at something. We would lightly tease her, never letting her hear, but clearly our thoughts of her were not in her favor. This went on until the reapings began. Erela was picked as a twelve year old, but somebody volunteered for her. My parents noticed her, pointing out her poise and control under such a delicate and stressful situation. I noticed as well, and took note of it, although it didn't change my mind about her.

My parents did some investigation, and learned that she came from a relatively well to do family, same as me. They began trying to arrange little get togethers within our families, much to my dismay. We didn't say much; I mostly relied on my parents' constant chattering to get me through those particular long, long hours. She was always reading, anyways. At first I considered it rude, but as these meetings went on, I realized that not only did she not mean any harm, but that she was trying to make it less uncomfortable for me. That was probably the turning point in our relationship. I remember one particular meeting in impeccable detail.

"What're you _reading?_" I asked, noticing a strange symbol on the front cover of her book. She glanced over the top, her face conveying no expression, her golden her flying all around her face, creating a huge knot on the back of her head, and replied in monotone.

"Harry Potter. I found it at the museum. The receptionist gave it to me. She said the museum didn't want it, because they had another copy," she said, and with a brief hint of a smile looked back down to her book. All was silent again. We were both sitting with our legs crossed on a large patch of grass behind her house. It was a beautiful day, the birds were singing, and I was amusing myself with attempting to make a grass whistle. She never complained about my constant huffing and occasional successful whistle, which I didn't think about. I look back at those days and think about all of the amazing things she did that I wished I had appreciated.

"Can you throw?" I asked her, naively thinking that athleticism was the key to popularity, and as my friends called it, "awesomeness". She looked up at me, with nothing but kindness showing on her face. It was another thing I should have appreciated, for my intentions were obnoxious and she handled it well.

"Not really. I read about people who throw, though. They sound nothing like me," she said matter-of-factly, but she closed her book and quickly did so. Puzzled, I did so when she did.

"…but I can try," she said, and I shrugged, jogging over to the nearest branch, cracking about five inches of it, and handing it to her.

"Here, throw this to me," I said, wanting her to fail so I would have more reason to dislike her, because I was softening up too much. I jogged back as far as I thought was fair, and gestured for her to try, for indeed I had gone too far to even yell to her. Naturally, she threw it about ten feet, and way off from my direction. She looked unfazed, and shrugged as if she had expected it.

"The only real failure in life is the failure to try," she said, and walked back over to her book, sat delicately back on the grass, and immersed herself in the world of Harry Potter.

I had just stared at her, and continued to do so for a while after, attempting to figure her out. I came to see how amazing she was over a period of about three years. We were both fifteen, and it was at that point we decided to be friends. From that point on, not only were we friends, but best friends. We were both so different, and together, we had everything. Brawn, brains, sarcasm, sweetness, flare, beauty, ruggedness. At least, I thought she was beautiful. Nobody else did, which didn't faze me. At the time, I didn't think of her beauty in a romantic way, I simply noticed it. We were best friends since, but it wasn't until about a year ago that we started watching the Hunger Games, and ironically, when I first realized that she wasn't beautiful, but _beautiful_.

We sat down with our parents, and her sister Maeve, who was eleven at the time. The tributes from District Four were supposed to be top notch this year, and we were encouraged to watch it. Not only were they top notch, but the two were very physical with their passion. I was embarrassed when watching it with me best friend and parents, especially when it was Erela, just because of her personality. There was no sexual tension off of the screen, just in it, but I felt like it was taking away her innocence, as knowledgeable as she was. Erela, however, felt differently, and was unfazed by the passion. She later confided in me that while the thought the Hunger Games were dreadful, she was intrigued by the premise of passion in such a dire and life threatening situation, and how far love really went when you life was on the line. She never once thought it was fake (I later learned that she was right, it was not a publicity stunt).

"Can you imagine, though, Sage?" she asked me. "Having to go out there and know that you might as well do everything you can, because odds are it is the last place you'll ever be, and _nothing_ could get worse?" she asked me, her eyes deep with compassion. I just looked at her, emotion building up inside of me, although I couldn't quite pinpoint what the particular emotion was in those seconds.

"I mean, they're already being forced to take lives, which is commonly seen as a selfish act, and because it is for their survival makes it all the more selfish in their eyes! But what choice do they have, Sage?" she exclaimed, her voice getting higher and higher in pitch, and I was just staring at her, feeling like I was about to explode. I couldn't take it. In two strides, I was at her side, pressing my lips against hers. She was shocked, but held her ground. I remember the shocked look on her face, as she questioned everything she knew about our friendship.

I didn't mention anything romantic to my friends about Erela at the time, for fear they would think it disgusting, for they were all fairly shallow guys who thought of her as rediculous and petty, and that she was a "nerd" or "lame", or a "wannabe". I didn't care to remind them that I had never been all over nude girls looking for a bit of extra change, like they had. It had never really appealed to me, and rightfully so, for it was an act of desperation on the girls' part.

After that kiss, a day didn't go by where I didn't make sure I held her in my arms at least once. I needed her, really, and wasn't really myself without her. I guess I was only half of myself when she wasn't near. She calmed me when I was pissed, soothed me when I was sad, made me laugh when my day had been way to serious or studious, because she knew that I hated school and I hated seriousness, and just wanted a little bit of laughter. I didn't change for her, we were like two puzzle pieces, custom made to fit with each other. I still didn't like books, she still couldn't throw, but I couldn't be without her.

Needless to say, my parents were delighted. Our families were very close as well, myself especially taking to Maeve, Erela's little sister, who had a fiery and sarcastic spirit, much like myself. I found similarities between us, such as the effect that Erela had on us. She made us total softies. Until our eighteenth year, the last year we were eligible for the reaping, I thought that we would never had a conflict (if having begun hating her wasn't enough, although she confided in me that she had never remotely disliked me). I was dreadfully wrong.


End file.
